


Goal in Sight

by figaro



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Incest, Kink Meme, M/M, Rimming, Sexual Coercion, dirtybadwrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:36:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figaro/pseuds/figaro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Souji wants nothing more than to sleep. Dojima doesn't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goal in Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Persona 4 kink meme, where the prompt was 'Souji very reluctantly gives his uncle a rimjob.' The keyword here is 'reluctantly'. For once I went down the route of non-sexy. It's not up to me to dictate what the reader finds hot or not, and I sure as heck wouldn't judge anyone, but in this one I was mostly trying my hand at revulsion, reluctance, a warped sense of duty and, well, dirtybadwrong. This piece is pretty old by now, but I read through it the other day and found that I was still happy with it, so - here it is!

Sucking Dojima off was alright. Souji was used to it—a bedtime routine which had started not very long after he’d moved to Inaba. He’d been no stranger to sucking cock before arriving, didn’t mind having his mouth fucked, didn’t mind swallowing; so the act wasn’t repulsive in itself. What had made him resist in the beginning was the glaring fact Souji and Dojima were blood. Sure, they hadn’t met since Souji was still in diapers but that didn’t change the fact Souji was Dojima’s sister’s son, and with that off limits. Clear as day. Blinking neon sign. A thousand miles of ‘ _do not cross_ ’ police tape.  
  
It hadn’t deterred Dojima in the least, not even when Souji had pointed it out loud and clear while pushing and scratching and fighting best he could.  
  
Uncle Dojima was far stronger than he looked.  
  
Souji had soon found out that resistance, as they say, was futile and in realizing that he’d done what had worked for him earlier in life—given in: belly up and throat bared and hands clear in sight with palms turned up. Not long after that he’d learned his surrendering hand was just barely large enough to wrap around his uncle’s erection.  
  
Uncle Dojima was big.  
  
Souji had a steady ache in his jaw these days. If he closed it hard he could feel muscles along it he didn’t remember having bulge under his fingertips. He tried not to do that, but somewhere along the way grinding his teeth had become a habit and getting rid of it was harder than it looked.  
  
While doing his homework before bed he practiced stretching and relaxing his mouth, opening it wide, grimacing and snapping it shut over and over, vocal warm up on mute. Souji thought it best warming up before Dojima came for his nightly visit. He’d be using his mouth for a while.  
  
Uncle Dojima had stamina.  
  
Souji could remember giving blowjobs lasting thirty minutes or more, where every second after the fifteenth minute was hell and he ended up crying in pain and frustration and covering his tears by gagging on purpose, swallowing thickly around the fat head of Dojima’s cock while dipping his head more than was necessary. The tears produced by retching were more than enough to cover up his own measly ones.  
  
Souji was a very, very skilled cocksucker because Souji didn’t want things to last long. Making Dojima blow his load in five minutes—a shower of pats and hair ruffling and praise following—didn’t give Souji a sense of pride; it gave him peace of mind.  
  
Still, the long and short of it: he didn’t mind terribly much giving his uncle head; it was routine by now.  
  
What wasn’t routine was the request that came one night—one when Souji was worn out and exhausted, his shoulders and neck aching from having dragged a goddamn broadsword around for hours through a strip club. On top of it the pounding beat echoing in the endless pink corridors had given him a throbbing headache and neither a shower nor an aspirin had made the slightest bit of difference.  
  
He sat crosslegged in pajamas on his already rolled out futon the night in question, arching his tender neck to look up at the man towering above him. Souji had known the moment Dojima closed the door behind him—the click of the lock like a gunshot in Souji’s ears, a spike of white-hot pain piercing his brain—something was up. It was in Dojima’s smile; it was _too nice_ , no teeth at all.  
  
We’re gonna try something new tonight, Dojima said, loosening his tie and running a hand over the front of his pants, the bulge already there painfully obvious.  
  
You won’t be sucking me, he said.  
  
 _Thank god,_ Souji thought.  
  
You’ll be licking me, Dojima said, and no, that was not Souji’s favorite pastime, no. Sucking cock was alright as long as the cock in question was reasonably clean; licking ass was disgusting, didn’t matter to Souji if it so had been scrubbed inside and out and polished to a sheen—it still repulsed him.  
  
But, throat bared, proverbial tail tucked neatly between his thighs, Souji nodded with a ‘Yes, Uncle.’ and prayed to all deities he could recall, ticking Personas off in his head, that Dojima had washed himself properly. It would at least lessen the risk of Souji retching.  
  
Fifteen minutes later Souji cursed how low his couch was. He was crouching on all fours in front of it—neck craned at an excruciating angle, head tilted back and to the side, making muscles all the way down to the small of his back scream—as he mouthed Dojima’s perineum, slipping lips and tongue over the expanse of sensitive skin, pausing now and then to drag his tongue over the back of his hand to get rid of hair in his mouth.  
  
Dojima was grunting above him. They were alone that evening and the man could allow himself to make noises. Souji preferred it when Nanako was home and his uncle had to shut up, even though the sense of danger that lurked in his gut when she was around was very uncomfortable. What if she—No. Souji couldn’t allow himself to think it. He focused on the grunts above him, on the irritation it created, allowed himself to fume for a moment, safely out of sight with Dojima’s balls resting heavy on his nose and his fringe shading his eyes.  
  
Lower, Dojima said, spreading surprisingly muscular legs wider and sinking down deeper on the couch, presenting his ass to Souji’s curled mouth and scrunched nose.  
  
Souji hesitated, grabbing Dojima’s cock in a placating gesture, trying to distract him by ever-so-gently sucking a large testicle into his mouth, rolling it on his tongue while working his fist in the corkscrew motion he knew Dojima enjoyed.  
  
Luck wasn’t with him that evening, though. Dojima planted a hand on his skull and pushed, also ever-so-gently, apparently not in the mood of having his ball sac stretched.  
  
It slipped from Souji’s mouth with a nasty slurping sound as he, eyes closed in defeat, allowed himself to be pushed further down, and obediently stuck his tongue out when Dojima stopped pushing and instead just held still, square-tipped fingers closing  tightly in his hair. Souji _hated_ when people messed with his hair, and fought biting his stuck-out tongue off as his jaws automatically started closing, wanting to clench and grind.  
  
Instead he opened his mouth as wide as it went and stretched his tongue out further, sliding it slick and flat over Dojima’s asshole. When Dojima groaned deep in his throat Souji repeated it; lapping at the puckered skin like a good dog, adding panting born from the strain in his muscles and a witch’s brew of emotions bubbling over in his belly for good measure.  
  
He took the hint when Dojima mashed his face against his ass, and made his tongue pointy and stiff and let Dojima set the pace, pushing and pulling, using Souji’s tongue to fuck himself shallowly. It really didn’t go that deep. Still Dojima moaned like a whore. Souji supposed it had more to do with the act than the actual sensation.  
  
Swallowing bile, Souji started counting seconds. His head was moved roughly every third, Dojima’s moans came every tenth, then after eighteen of those changed pace, the sounds slowing down by a couple of seconds at a time, like a watch running low on batteries.  
  
It wasn't until Souji was close to giving up, the state of his poor tongue added to the rest of his worn out muscles, that Dojima grabbed his cock and started jerking it, spattering Souji’s hair with precome with the first couple of rough tugs. Souji couldn’t make himself care. Dojima could’ve pissed on him for all he cared then, if it meant they were finishing up.  
  
He allowed a whimper of relief to slip out, the pathetic little noise smushed against Dojima’s asshole, when he recognized the pace of Dojima’s jerking hand, at least three tugs per second, and knew for sure it soon would be over. To hurry it on he started thrusting his tongue as well, and threw in a couple of moans just to make sure; the hand he now used to help brace himself against Dojima’s thigh curling into a claw, blunt little fingernails digging into meaty flesh, making Dojima jerk and grunt, and a heartbeat later the man came.  
  
The grip in Souji’s hair tightened, tightened and then let up and Souji flung himself back until he sat up straight, gasping for fresh air and trying to think of how to wipe his mouth off without letting his distaste shine through more than it already had. Dojima was slumped on the couch, though, his breathing heavy as a bull’s, eyes shut peacefully, and Souji, relieved, seized the moment to rub tongue and lips and chin and nose and—fuck—his entire face with his sleeve, drooling into it when he wanted nothing more than to spit and spit again but didn’t dare make any noise.  
  
He rubbed his tongue until he could taste nothing but cotton with a hint of fabric softener and it was infinitely better than the musky tang that had resided there before. He dreamed of brushing his teeth, of using so much mouthwash the insides of his mouth felt raw and achy. He wanted a shower. He wanted to sleep. He wanted Dojima out of his goddamn room and—  
  
That was sweet, Dojima said, cutting Souji’s wishes off.  
  
 _Acrid_ , Souji thought, lowering his arm and letting his hands rest in his lap, unable to stop the corners of his mouth from sagging.  
  
We have to do that again, Dojima said.  
  
 _I need to move_ , Souji thought, at that very moment all but ready to give up his fight against evil, give up his newfound friends and baby sister and just flee back to the city; fuck his parents, he got by fine on his own. Friendships, as much as he treasured them, could be managed long-distance, and country life could be poorly mimicked by picnics in the park or daytrips to the nearest village, and Nanako could, should, _had to_ come live with him later on, he’d make sure of it.  
  
But he _couldn’t_. Too much was at stake and besides, Souji was a boy who took his duties very seriously and ‘paying rent’, as Dojima jokingly had called it one time while thrusting his cock too far into Souji’s mouth, was definitely a duty among others.  
  
Catch the killer, tend to his friends, manage his jobs, get his uncle off and get good grades, if he could juggle those things for another six months he’d be home free.

  
Six more months. The thought pounded in Souji’s skull along with his headache, now worse than ever, as Dojima wiped his sticky hand off on his chest before getting to his feet.  
  
He couldn't wait.


End file.
